


Guess Who's Coming for Dinner

by Atlantia



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlantia/pseuds/Atlantia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A battle can change things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who's Coming for Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perkyandproud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perkyandproud/gifts).



“God, Stronghold, get out of the way!” The shout is accompanied by a sudden shove that sends him tumbling down the mound of rubble he was standing on.

Above him, flames soar across the chasm formed by the two collapsed buildings, striking the coruscating energy field protecting their latest enemy, crashing against it like bright orange waves against a smooth blue shore. The blue shield shimmers briefly, flaring bright against the darkening sky, before shrugging aside the incandescent power, splitting the fire like a stone in a river.

The flames cut off as Warren leaps out of the way of the return volley, purple bolts of plasma arcing out of the shield and striking the ground a split second after he is already rolling down the side of the mound, landing roughly beside Will.

"I knew you'd be the death of me, Stronghold. Didn't you learn anything at school?" Will can't help the smile that splits his face, even in this life or death struggle, feeling the coating of dust that covers his face crack and flake away.

"I may not have learnt all the street smarts and fancy moves that you did, but what I did learn is that shield is clearly an energy dissipator, which means your flames are about as useless here as my father in a room of crying women." Purple energy lances at them, smashing into the large blocks of concrete that are piled around them, throwing dust and debris into the air and showering them both with sizzling hot sparks.

Will is moving before he even realises it, the large block of concrete beside him sailing across the distance to the shield, smashing itself to rubble as it collides with the smooth blue surface, the bright colour dimming to a faint glow. His body is only split seconds behind it, ramming into the barrier in a charge that he feels any linebacker would be proud off, pressing with all of his strength until he feels the faintest flicker of give.

With a blinding flash the shield is down, energy spiralling into the sky like an inverse tornado, and then Will's world turns purple and all he knows is pain.

It's been a long time since he felt pain, real pain that is, as opposed to the faint flickers that occassionally make it through his impenetrable skin. Or the phantom pain that's left over from before his powers manifested. Now though, now he not only remembers what pain is like, he experiences agony like he's never before seen. 

He's pretty sure the shot was aimed right at his heart, and, since that's where the pain is definitely concentrated, the guy must be a pretty good shot. The flames across his skin turn into the burning agony of a thousand suns where it hits his chest, and he's not certain, but he thinks he can almost feel his heart stop for a few desperate moments. The purple that fills his vision darkens slowly at the edges, turning to a deep violet and eventually black, then in a sudden rush, it flares bright orange red.

Like the avenging flames of a heavenly angel, the orange sweeps the purple aside, passing over his skin like a warming bath, driving pain and fear before it, and with a gasp he breathes for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Somehow he's ended up on his back, twisted into a half curl that is in no way even remotely comfortable, but it gives him a perfect view as Warren faces down the villain, body taught between Will and his enemy, bright flames warding off purple pain.

He can see the stiff posture to Warren's back, can imagine the tightly clenched teeth as he moves forward with vengeful intent. He's not sure if he blacks out for a second then, or if Warren simply moves inhumanly fast, but one second there's a battle of energy in progress, and the next, the villain is disarmed, helpless on the ground, flames building in Warren's hands as terror builds in the eyes of his opponent.

Will tries to speak up, to tell Warren he's ok, but his lungs don't seem to be working properly and his mouth won't form the words, which is probably a good indication that he's actually not ok at all. If he does manage to make a sound however, it's too soft for Warren to hear and before he can try again the villain is nothing but ash on the ground, a lingering scream echoing off the buildings around them.

Will can't help taking a moment to hope desperately that there are no cameras within range of this fight, no overeager person clambering close enough to capture shaking video on their cell phone, then Warren is kneeling over him, the flames of anger in his eyes metamorphosing into fear.

"Stronghold, are you alright?" Will tries to speak again but still can't seem to manage words. A small whine escapes him however and he considers it a minor success. "Can you say anything?" He can't and he tries to convey that with his eyes, enough to say he hurt, but he thought he'd be ok. He can hear the choppers in the distance now, the sirens of police and no doubt the military already on their way to carry out clean up duty. Will and Warren couldn't be here when they arrived. The world couldn't see the son of the Commander and Jetstream reduced to an incoherent mess.

Warren seemed to pick up on his agitation and with a soft grunt Will finds himself hoisted up bridal style as the other hero strides with soft but purposeful stps towards the shelter of a nearby alley. If there's anything the two of them share it's an understanding of pride.

After that his world degenerates into a series of flickering images and sensations. The warmth of Warren's chest against him, the strength of his arms, images of unfamiliar alleys, sewers and basements, until suddenly he's being gently deposited onto the soft covers of his own bed, the view out his apartment window showing the final rays of the sun as it sets over Central Park.

He doesn't think Warren's ever visited his apartment before, he didn't even know the other man knew where he lived. Usually when they carry out this routine it's him bringing Warren home, a reckless stunt gone wrong and yet Will always there to pull him out of it.

"Here Stronghold." A cool glass is pressed against his lips and he gratefully swallows the sips of water, until he feels well enough to move a hand and hold the glass himself. Warren is a slightly darker shadow off to the side of the bed as he finishes the water off, warm fingers brushing over his and taking the glass from still shaking fingers before he can drop it.

He hears the faint click of the glass as it's placed down on the stone benchtop, however Warren doesn't reappear from the living area. Will knows he hasn't left because the front door has always scraped against the frame when it's opened and he can picture in his mind's eye, the pyro bent over the kitchen bench, his face in his hands.

They've never been in this situation before, never had a fight that left Will as the vulnerable or injured one. They're both going to have to adapt to this new possibility.

He hears a soft footstep turning towards the bedroom and he almost holds his breath, then, with a soft squeak of twisting rubber, the footsteps stride in the other direction and, with the scrape of door on frame the other hero is gone.

Will lets out the breath he's been holding and slumps back into the mattress. They'll need to talk about what happened today at some stage, address their feelings about this, discuss counter strategies. It's one of the first things they taught in advanced classes. Heroes that didn't address their feelings and weaknesses left themselves open to having them exploited in battle.

But for now, he left himself drift off into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of encroaching purple shadows, warded off by a ring of incandescant flames.

When he finally woke it was still dark outside, most of the buildings surrounding the park unlit, their occupants asleep. It takes him a second to notice the soft tapping against his front door and even longer to regain control of his limbs enough to hesitantly shuffle his way over to the edge of the bed and climb achingly to his feet.

The trek to the door seems to take a long time, but the knocking doesn't come again, doesn't turn into a heavy pounding or frantic hammering. He actually has to brace himself on the wall next to the door in order to overcome the force of the automatic door closer, and then the door gradually opens to reveal Warren Peace looking as haggard and downtrodden as he imagines he looks himself.

They're bother still in their constumes, which is a huge risk to their secret identities, but neither of them seem to care.

"Will..." The word is a whisper and for a second Will doesn't grasp the significance of the fact that the other hero has just used his first name in what feels like forever. He doesn't know how to act with this soft spoken, concerned Warren Peace and he searches frantically for an appropriate response.

"Would..." he softly clears his throat to give himself extra time, "would you like to stay for dinner?" It's such a blatantly ridiculous thing to say in light of the day they've had, but a soft smile crosses his crime fighting partner's face anyway. Their eyes meet for just a second before the other hero is gently nudging him aside to make his way into the apartment.

"Yeah, Stronghold, that'd be good."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed... it may not be exactly what you were looking for but I can't help writing romantic overtones between these two!


End file.
